


Joan

by drippingwithsin



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, F/F, Mentions of Rape, Silence Of The Lambs/Hannibal AU, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingwithsin/pseuds/drippingwithsin
Summary: Given the opportunity of a lifetime, trainee Vera Bennett is thrust into the deepest darkest recesses of the human mind when she comes face to face with the infamous serial killer Dr. Joan Ferguson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Silence of Lambs/Hannibal AU so gore will be taking place, but not too too disgusting. When I first began writing this I thought hard about not making Joan a cannibal, but that wouldn't be much of Hannibalistic story now would it? Now, there are some quotes from the book, but nothing is word for word. Copying anything makes me sick. The basic online for the first couple of chapters will be movie/book though later on I'll throw in some of my own twists and turns.

The midmorning sun hung proudly in the Australian sky casting its unwavering gaze over the earth and mercilessly bringing the temperature to an unbearable celsius. Dew steamed from the grass wafting up into a heady cloud of humidity that clung to one’s skin like heated syrup, sticky and irritating. All the while the unbearable sunlight licked across damp skin, fur and scales with unrelenting enthusiasm.

Horrible, choking and absolutely miserable all in all it was a typical summer day in the land down under.

However, despite the sweat beading down her throbbing temples and forehead, Vera Bennett remained fully in stance. Legs spread, arms outstretched, a Glock unwavering in a firm double handed grasp, Vera let out a cleansing breath and fired in rapid session. A vain curl of the lips. As always her aim remained true.  Each one hit a vital organ. Dead. Good.

Nobody wants to chase a criminal in this godforsaken heat especially a wounded one.

Vera unloaded the weapon, practised fingers making short work of dismantling and placing it back into the holster in one quick move. _Your gun is like a lover, treat it well and with respect._ A silly piece of advice, yet one that has served her well throughout the years. She patted her face with a used napkin, grimacing when all it did was smear the dirt and perspiration.

Vera went to leave when a fresh-faced young man came trotting up to her. “Bennett?”

“Yes?”

“Chief August needs you in Behavioral Science.” He announced breathlessly, chiclet teeth gleaming with every word.

* * *

 

Breathing heavily from both the high temperature and the exhilaration of an earlier field exercise, Vera reached her destination a flushed mess. She chanced a quick glance of herself in the door’s glass reflection and grimaced. Dried grass was woven into the damp curls of her hair, dirt plastered to her exposed lightly tanned skin, and stains were all over Vera's favourite tank from diving to the ground under fire in an arrest gone wrong scenario.

_Fuck I look like a homeless person._

She quickly used the opportunity to fluff out herself a bit. Another once over followed by a sigh. This will just have to do. Vera walked into the building fully appreciating the cool blast of conditioned air and made a woven beeline to the inner office where she found Benjamin August surprisingly alone, chatting on the phone by his desk.

His normally pristine suit, jacketless and crinkled with overuse sat like crumpled wrapping paper against his stocky form. Usually combed sandy hair a dishevelled mess and clean-shaven face sporting a five o'clock shadow. The poor man looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

August must have sensed another presence because his head snapped around. Bloodshot eyes rimmed with fatigue locking onto Vera’s own, he flashed her an apologetic look.

“Yes, yes, I’m positive. When? Alright then.” Click.

He gave her a welcoming smile. “Morning, Bennett.”

“Good morning, August. You wished to see me?” Vera greeted with a polite smile.

“Yes, I hope I didn’t convince you in any way.”

“No, not at all.”

“Good, take a seat.”

She eased into a stiff sable pleather and mahogany wooden chair, cringing a bit when it made an obnoxious sound. August, on the other hand, plopped down in his own like a tranquillized bear. “I called you in here to inform you of a little project I have for you.” Tone serious as he went on to further explain. “One of which may help you a great deal in furthering your career.”  

August picked up a thick folder containing a mountain of papers sticking out in precarious directions and opened. Vera watched his eyes immediately begin to dart back and forth rapidly for a few seconds.

"Now, you put down that when you’re finished with the academy you want to work here.” It was more of a statement than a question still, Vera found herself answering it anyway.

“I do.”

August nodded and glanced back down at what she assumed were her credentials, skimming through the words pensively. Vera shifted subconsciously, not quite liking being under the spotlight. “After reading over your achievements I must say, I’m highly impressed. Double majors in both psychology and criminology, not to mention your work in mental health care centers.” He glanced from the page to Vera, smiling boyishly. “You’re just full of surprises, aren't you, Vera.”

Delicate face suddenly highlighted in pink, the young woman lowered her head and gnawed ruthlessly on a plump bottom lip. “I suppose.” Came a meek mutter. 

“No need to thank me, you’re the one who’s done all the work.” August let out an airy laugh before clapping his hands together causing Vera to look up once more.“Alright now to the reason why I’ve asked you here. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Lantern Project?”

Bits and bobs of the familiar name bounced in her mind, but nothing concrete stood out.“Of it? Yes, but it wasn’t much to go on.”

August gave a nod before going on to elaborate. “It’s a project the States have come up in the recent months. Basically a process in creating an enormous extensive database of the most violent of offenders across the globe.”

Vera inwardly snorted. Leave it to the Americans to come up with something like that. Though if she was truly honest with herself, Vera would admit to being more than a little intrigued. “What sort of information will they be looking for?”

“They’ve come up with a questionnaire, dealing with all types. From the criminally insane to the thrill seekers.”

“How many are in it so far?”

“Just over these past six months alone, we’ve already attempted to interview thirty-six known serial killers. Most thankfully have complied fully, though, truthfully I suspect it’s merely a way to gloat. Thirty of which are willing to cooperate. Five on death row with appeals pending and are now born-again Christians have refused, understandably. But the one we want the most, we haven't been able to get. I want you to go after her tomorrow in the asylum."

The small woman perked, leaning forward on the edge of her seat. "Oh? Who's the subject?"

"Dr. Joan Ferguson,"

At the mere mention of the name, Vera’s blood ran cold and an onslaught of horrific images flickered through her mind like a cinematic reel. Captured ten years ago after a string of cannibalistic murders shook Australia to its proverbial knees, Joan Ferguson held the title of being the evilest woman to walk this earth since well, ever. Her deeds once brought into the light sending shockwaves throughout the entire world. How could a person, a woman no less do such atrocities? The question was on everybody’s minds and the news for weeks. Yet no real answer was ever given. “The Freak?”

“Yes,”

Another fresh wave of pure fear washed over Vera, sending chills up and down her spine. "Um, I don-"

A chanced glance. August's expression left no room for argument. Fuck.

Her dainty throat bobbed with trepidation. "Alright then. I'm glad for the chance and all, but um may I ask you something?"

A nod.

“Why me?”  

“Mostly because you're available.” He admitted bluntly with no sheepish remorse before adding with a slightly softer tone. “But also because we feel you’ll appeal to her.”

“Appeal to her?”

“Ferguson has a strong dislike for men. She finds them I mean us stupid, oafish and only useful for the rare ingredient to a French dish. So a petite woman such as yourself should pose little to no threat to her.”

 _Oh well, thank you, Chief August, for boosting such confidence there._ And here she was feeling so--big. A mental snort. 

Just going on appearances alone, Vera Bennett was not one would call intimidating if anything she was the complete opposite. Slight body compacted into a pixyish form which stood a head or even two shorter than even some women combined with earnest cornflower eyes, Vera was like a papillon in a world made for Dobermans.

And they let her know it. Some taunted cruelly or simply ignored, others cooed a bit at her apparent adorableness. The bitterness churning her stomach was belied by the blank look on her face. “If that’s the case why not simply ask Westfall?”

Bridget Westfall was an infamous psychologist whose interviews with murders were truly groundbreaking. With her expertise and entail the service was able to an in-depth look inside some of the most violent of offenders in Australia.  

August shook his head. “She’s currently under investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“There were apparently some rumours circulating a while back concerning her and a one Ms. Francesca Doyle.” By his loaded demeanour and tone, it didn’t take but a beat for Vera to figure out just what sort of rumours they were. Bridget and Franky the Butcher? Christ. She made a face.

A deep chuckle reverberated the room. “So as you can see I’m a bit short-handed at the moment.”

"I’ll say,” Vera snickered only to sober up just as quickly. “What of The Red Right Hand and the goings on in Victoria?"

“Quiet for now.” He said, then seemed to mull over it for a moment before shaking his head. “But honestly there’s not nearly enough to go on even with what we got now. Bodies have dwindled, and if they are around this heat combined with scavengers takes care of them in a matter of hours." 

"You said tomorrow? Is the rush due to any bearings on a current case?" She questioned curiously, usually, the interviewer was given at least a week to prepare this one seemed too pushed like they had to have it now or nothing at all. 

"No,” A forlorn sigh escaped chapped lips. “But I wish there were."

Vera nodded in understanding, cold cases were the absolute worst. Like trying to put together an enormous puzzle without all the pieces. It was nearly maddening. She decided not to dwell on it and flipped the conversation back on Ferguson also deciding not to push why it was rushed. August seemed to have enough on his plate. "If she refuses the questionnaire, do you still want to try for a psychological evaluation?"

"No. It’s already been attempted multiple times and the results are always different. She merely dangles a carrot of her choosing in front of them and those jackasses follow whichever way she wants them to go." August spat out with a huff.

Confidence dwindling like spiked punch at a cheap wedding. Vera was seriously beginning to second guess this entire situation. Yes, even as a trainee she was brilliant at what she did despite the shy setbacks in the very beginning. But in all honestly the former was the problem in and of itself Vera was green. She was not hardened to this sort of thing. Not like Bridget, well, how the psychologist used to be; cold and indifferent. Vera, on the other hand, still put far too much of her heart into things. Making her soft--a bit too soft especially in this type of work.

So again why her then?

_You’ll appeal to her._

A sacrificial lamb to keep the rest of the flock safe. She was truly their last resort. _Have the baby they said, a right lot of good that did. Look at you. You stupid worthless girl that’s all you’re good at, being second best._

The telltale squeaky groan of worn leather brought her back to reality. Vera blinked a couple of times clearing the cobwebs from both mind/eyes only to find August up strolling over to the messy counter near the window.

Thank God he didn't notice her zone out. A quick sigh of relief. 

Vera watched him snatch up an enormous 'I heart daddy' mug and pour himself a hefty cupful of some patented office hog wallow sludge, adding shovels of sugar as he spoke."It's goddamn ridiculous, you know; how easily Ferguson leads people on.” He turned back to her, resting his hip on the end of the desk.” Once she pretended to go along with the previous hospital director, Jonathan Blackwell, in some tests, sitting around with blood-pressure tabs taped to her clitoris and nipples, looking at various gruesome pictures. Then she goes on to publish Blackwell's work, making him out to be some sort of pervert. Well, needless to say, the outcry from Ferguson’s ‘followers’ was tremendous. Blackwell nearly lost his job and reputation all in one week. Ferguson, on the other hand, gained a Saint Nick’s bag worth of fan mail and support.”

Irritation and deep thought causing masculine features to scrunch. “Honestly, one must seriously question the sanity of people who’d follow a cannibalistic woman with a borderline obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Vera merely shrugged, absentmindedly quoting one of her professors. “People tend to be drawn to the darkness.”

His attention snapped back to Vera and he peered at her intensely for a few seconds, causing the young woman to squirm uncomfortably.“Bennett, before you even begin you must know something.”

August leaned forward a bit as if to share some sort of ridiculous schoolyard secret.“Be extremely cautious with Joan Ferguson. If she chooses to speak with you at all, do not give her any leeway. And yes, I know you have to back-and-forth a little in interviews, but tell her no specifics about yourself at all. Not even your favourite colour. You don't want any of your personal facts in that twisted mind of hers. She’ll mould, manipulate and break you until there’s nothing left but a mindless drooling pawn and do it all before her daily cup of afternoon tea."

A tense moment passed between them.

“Well, carry on you’re going to need your rest tomorrow’s going to be a big day.” August dismissed, sitting back down at his desk and robotically began sorting through some papers.

Vera gave him a curt nod, getting up to leave.

“Oh and Vera,”

She paused mid-step, turning. “Yes?”

Expression a mask of grim seriousness August appeared as if he too was second guessing this. “Just remember to do your job, but never ever forget what she is."

"And what's that?" 

"A monster.” Dark eyes like a dead stag’s bored into her own, chilling Vera to the bone.

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera's arrival at the insane asylum.

Drowning in a worn set of red flannel pyjamas with a generous glass of grape flavored antifreeze clutched in her hand, Vera padded over to her couch and plopped down rather unladylike. It’d been a long exhausting day and this is all she wanted-needed. A sip(gulp) or two later she felt her muscles finally begin to relax. Vera closed her eyes, letting out a cleansing sigh. God bless cheap wine.

But as the quietness crept in so did the trepidation, railroading the tranquillity and mind-numbing alcohol.

She nibbled on her lip before reaching over and snatching up her laptop. In two steps google was opened. Vera stared conflicted. The cursor in the search bar blinked back tauntingly. _Know thy enemy._ But was Joan Ferguson truly an enemy?

Of course, she was.

J-O-A-N  F-E-R-G-U-S-O-N. Not surprising several articles appeared a split second all with similar bylines. Vera clicked on the first one.

_Joan Ferguson (April 30, 1959-), also known as the ‘Aussie Freak’ and later on ‘Joan The Bone Eater’, is an Australian serial who committed series of murders which contained, the cannibalism and dismemberment of seventeen men and two women between 1977 and 1991._

_Diagnosed as a sociopath by a handpicked team of psychiatrists and psychologists, Ferguson was found to be completely insane at her trial despite the damning testimony of her one surviving victim, Derek Channing. She was convicted of sixteen out of seventeen murders she had committed in various parts of Australia. Ferguson was sentenced to fifteen terms of life in an insane asylum on February 15, 1992, and_ _is currently living out her sentence in Wentworth’s Hospital for the Criminally Insane._

Vera looked at the picture. Dark eyes gleamed back from a surprisingly handsome feminine face. The pale skin combined with the halo of black and silver hair surrounding the inky wells somehow making them stand out even more.

Dead to the world and completely unapologetic. Even in the picture, they challenged her. _Until we meet little rabbit._ Vera glanced away.

* * *

Wentworth's Hospital for the Criminally Insane was very much what Vera expected. Clean, clinical and sterilized to the point of being nearly intolerable the place honestly was not much different than any other hospital. Yet-- unlike the others, this one contained a certain aura, thick and dangerous, it sent the hairs on the back of her neck to attention.

Upon arriving at the front desk, Vera was ‘greeted’ from behind it by an older woman who looked as though she hated this job, her life and everything else in this world. Fabulous. 

Vulture grey eyes peered boredly over rimmed black glasses. “May I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Vera Bennett I’m here to see Dr. Backwell.” Vera’s voice involuntary came out harsher than intended. Oh well, rudeness begets rudeness. Some things in life one simply cannot help.

The woman pursed her lips, giving Vera a long scrutinizing look before glancing back at a computer monitor. Bitch. She tapped idly on the keys a few times and picked up a phone, speaking to whom Vera assumed was Blackwell since her name came up. “Dr. Backwell will see you now, his office is just down the hall to right.”

Vera strolled into a neatly organized office with an air of authority belied by the nervousness wreaking havoc in her gut. Not so much from meeting Blackwell, but from the real knowledge that she was one step closer to meeting _her_.

From the moment her eyes landed on the lumpy balding man sitting behind the desk, Vera knew immediately Jonathan Blackwell was a class A pervert. One of those rich entitled bastards who think reaching under a woman’s skirt is an occupational privilege.

His grabby eyes roamed over her person, lingering on her tits and legs as his greasy tongue slithered out licking sickly pale grey lips. “Agent Bennett is it?”

Vera shuddered under his gaze and suddenly felt the strong urge to bathe.“Yes, sir.” She only out of politeness walked up and shook his hand, grimacing inwardly when a clammy palm grasped her own.

“So you’re the one August decided to interview Ferguson. I must say, I’m entirely surprised.” He appeared as such on the surface, but his eyes looked at her with suspicion. Did he think August was up to something? Or had some hidden agenda in recruiting a greenhorn?

“I was also.” Her face remained passive.

“Oh?” Suspicion bled to interest, and she immediately recognized this for what it was, a condescending test of her gullibility. An animal trainer dangling a banana over a monkey’s head. He just wanted to see her dance. Bloody misogynist bastard.  

“As I’m sure you’ve read from my files sent over, I’m still a trainee of sorts. Interviewing a serial killer is a huge step.” The truth tasted bitter on her tongue as did the feeling of inferiority.

“Yes, well we all have to begin somewhere right. Might as well be something big.” Blackwell chuckled with delight and an underlying cruelty.

He thought her failure was imminent. Vera’s blood boiled, but through no small effort, her face remained impassive. “I suppose,”

An awkward tense silence passed.

“We tried to study Fergurson, you know. We thought, 'Here's an opportunity of a lifetime’ it's so rare to get one alive and even rarer that it's a woman." He admitted a bit wistfully as if speaking about some sort of exotic animal. 

"One what?" She pressed. 

"A pure sociopath, that's obviously what she is. But she's like an impenetrable fortress, much too sophisticated for any sort of tests. Though,” Blackwell tilted his head slightly to the right.“You might just be the ticket into accessing it.”

Her face colored with confusion while inwardly her gut churned with the prediction of just where this conversation was heading. "How do you mean, Dr. Blackwell?"

“Ferguson from the microscopic amount of information we’ve gathered about her is a full-on lesbian. And one who I believe hasn’t seen another woman well, at least one who’s attractive as you in several years-- perhaps a pretty thing like you is just what we need.” He smirked lecherously. Eyes glazed with fancies of debauchery.  

 _Oh, how disgusting_. Her spirit appalled yet her body constricted. Vera swallowed a retort down like a spoonful of peanut butter. 

A sharp couple of raps at the door snapped them to attention. Thank Christ. In the entryway a lumbering giant of a man stood shifting awkwardly, his face a mask of boyish innocence and body like a professional weight lighter. He strangely reminded Vera of a Saint Bernard puppy.

“This is the orderly for Ferguson’s section, David Matthews, he will lead you to her.”

* * *

 

At the first crash of heavy steel gates slamming closed, Vera nearly jumped out of her skin. The corridor it opened to was long, made up of numerous doors on either side each with a different number painted on the front of them. In the hall itself, orderlies and nurses escorted patients to and fro different rooms, talking in hushed soft tones in an attempt to keep them calm.

Used to this kind of atmosphere, Vera paid no mind merely kept pace. Though she did wonder what these particular patients did to get here.  

As if on cue, a twiggy man appeared in front of her face, hair disheveled and eyes dancing with madness.“Hi! You smell pretty!” He giggled, clapping his hands together impishly. She flinched back, instinctively shrinking into herself.

"Hopkins!" Enormous paws appeared out of nowhere, wrapping themselves around the man’s biceps, They yanked him backwards. “Come on, your pudding’s waiting. Sorry.” A long-suffering orderly gave her a grim apologetic look.

"It's alright."

Well, she seen enough. Vera quickened her pace, short legs working overtime to keep up with behemoth who’d never even turned around. So much for protection.

They passed through a seemingly never-ending maze of locks and gates, and the further they went the less ‘lively’ it became until it was devoid altogether. Gloomy, desolate with the sound of muffled screams as the background noise this section was a cinematic nightmare come true.   

Vera shivered, getting as close to her escort as possible without being considered rude. “Has Furgerson ever been out of this place?”

David slowed beneath a dim flickering light. “Once a few years back.” He rumbled over his shoulder. “She pretended to fall out sick in her cell so we took her to the nurse’s station. At the time she seemed truly sick enough, heart rate was low and what not. The doctor at the time musta thought so too because he bent over to check her vitals. That's when it happened, quick as a snake Ferguson shot up from the bed and latched onto his throat. Took three of us to take her down, but by that time it was too late she'd already ripped out his jugular." It was said with a faux solemn tone."Now, if she has to be brought out outside for anything, anything at all, she has to wear full restraints and a mouthpiece,"

Coral lips doing their best impression of a guppy, Vera wasn’t sure what to say at the moment so she said nothing at all.

The duo walked through the final door which opened up into another narrow hall, this one, however, coming to a dead end. Doubled barred cells lined the walls on each side. Cages within cages they each held a creature more dangerous than any animal at the zoo.

"Alright, it's very last one separated from the rest. Stay toward the middle of the corridor as you go down, and don't mind anything you see or hear. Oh and here,” He handed her a thick book on psychiatry. “There’s a slot for which you can pass things back and forth through. It’s too narrow for her arm to get through so you’ll be safe giving her this."

Vera nodded, tucking it underneath her right arm.

“I'll meet you there short I have to go back and check on some inmates.”

Wait, was he leaving? She opened her mouth to object, but it was too late David was gone and she was left alone. Well, fuck. Vera took in a steeling breath before beginning her trek.

Hoots and jeers announced her presence, growing more boisterous with each passing one.  _Keep to the middle, don't let them get to you._ She mentally chanted all the while keeping her posture straight.

Halfway there, though, Vera heard something so obscene it made her pause and look. A very unattractive obese woman grinned back obviously loving the new attention given before licking one of the metal bars suggestively.

Vera cringed in revulsion and hurriedly commenced her journey, choosing to ignore the cackle that echoed from behind.   

Isolated from the rest by an enormous gap between the second to the last and her own, Ferguson's cell was a bit different from the rest. The sides were built with standard concrete blocks like the others, but the front consisted entirely of clear plexiglass, leaving everything inside exposed. Including the monster who dwelled in it.

Facing the far wall Joan sat, hunched over a tiny metal desk, furiously scribbling away with a fat black preschool crayon. Which would have been a bit comical if the woman had been anyone else.

Heart mimicking that of a humming bird's, Vera approached the glass cautiously but kept a respectable distance.

"Dr. Ferguson." She mentally cheered when her voice came out strong.

The writing immediately stopped and the doctor's back stiffened.

Newly emerged butterflies began to slam precariously in Vera’s gut at the thought of provoking this predatory further. Still, she had a job to do. "My name is Vera Bennett. May I speak with you?"

A tense moment passed with the only the sound of blood roaring in the young woman's ears breaking the silence. She swallowed thickly, deciding to try once more.

“Dr. Ferguson?” Joan rose from the chair like a titan from the sea. Powerful, regal and dangerously awe-inspiring. The doctor turned with surprising grace to Vera and it was all the young woman could do to keep from gaping. The photos kept in the database didn’t do her justice. She was beautiful though in a nontraditional sense. Tall and broad, but not overly bulky her body, clad in a horrendous teal tracksuit, moved with practiced fluidly as she began to stroll over.

_No wonder she was able to take down fully grown men with ease._

Cornflowers bloomed just a bit wider with each lionne step closer until finally, Vera had to literally crane her neck up to meet the doctor's eye. 

The gaze of a great white peered back. Watching, waiting and calculating. They were oddly curious. _I only wished to try a nibble, but alas I ate it all._ Vera shuddered, but in a herculean effort managed to keep her expression passive in the face of death.    

"Good morning," Joan greeted as if they were old colleagues, the aristocratic lit of her voice like expensive whiskey over ice. Smooth, rich and chilling.

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Interview

The fine hair along Vera’s forearms raised pressing against the sleeves of her cardigan. In her short time working with the mentally ill she has faced many of people that if you did but this woman was a totally different animal. Dark and unpredictable like midsummer storm creeping upon the horizon.

“Good morning, Doctor, my name is Vera Bennett from Behavioral science. I’m here about the questionnaire.” The young trainee greeted once again, inwardly cringing at how rushed it sounded.

A tense moment passed. Joan never blinked.

"The questionnaire from the Lantern project, I presume.”

Vera stood a bit straighter, clasping her hands behind her back in an attempt to hide the trembling. "Yes,"

“May I see some identification please?”

Well, now that she hadn’t expected. Vera blinked stupidly. “Um, what?”

“Identification.” She repeated with a hint of impatience.

“Oh,” Vera tugged the long-forgotten briefcase into her lap and fished around in its contents until finally locating her prize. She placed the I.D. card on top of the psychiatry book and pushed it through the slot, it slid across the tray in a harsh metallic swoosh.

Instead of immediately retrieving the items like Vera expected, however, Joan merely turned and walked further back in her cell. What on earth? Had she already decided not to do it? Alice blues watched her go, before taking the time to do a quick cursory glance over the woman’s domain. The cell was bare to the absolute minimum save for the standard bunk, toilet, and table. It held nothing of personal value or touch. Just a sterile lifeless cage.

A small crate for a great predatory.

The unwelcome feeling of pity panged in Vera’s gut. _No,_ she shook it off. This was a monster and monsters belong in cages. She turned her attention back to said woman.

Slightly hunched over the desk, Joan lifted what appeared to be a mahogany music box from its top and opened it. A small smile graced her handsome face. She reached in with care and when her hand returned a pair of shiny black leather gloves laid limply in her grasp.

Watching with unwavering fascination, Vera briefly wondered how out of all the items this one was allowed. Surely she had to get some special permission.

Joan slid into each one carefully, meticulously smoothing out the leather tightly over long nimble fingers, she flexed them as she expected their fitness thoroughly. Once finally satisfied she returned to Vera, stride strangely more relaxed.

Joan picked up the card from the tray and traced over it languidly, drinking in every detail like fine wine before glancing over it and eyeing Vera with suspicious scrutiny. 

“You're quite young.” She stated simply, eyelids narrowing. “Tell me, are you even out of the academy?”

The embarrassment creeping its way across pale cheeks screamed the truth louder than words.

Joan’s face remained passive, but her eyes glimmered with mirth. “My, August truly is getting desperate.”

Vera mastered her immediate impulse to retort something she’d doubtless regret immediately. Thankfully the sound of footsteps approaching stifled any desire completely.

David lumbered over to them.

“Everything alright, Ms. Bennett?” He inquired, brow furrowed in concern.

“Perfectly fine.” She nodded, with a tight forced smile, watching at the corner of her eye as Joan slid her card back through and politely held onto it for her to take.

“Ah Mr. Matthews, you’re just in time to see Benjamin's finest underling pick my brain.” The doctor chimed in coyly as if the two of them were sharing some secret joke.

Vera responded with a withering stare and snatched her I.D from the woman’s grasp.

“Oh dear, see how she angers; this cute little mouse sent into the lion’s den. Do you wish to check my paws for thorns, Officer Bennett? Do you think that would ease my disposition?” She taunted, mockingly holding her leather encased hands up to the plexiglass.

Jaw tight, Vera gritted. “I don’t know, would it?”

Total heart-pounding silence. Oh God, what had she done? Vera’s vitals raced to try to locate a solution to rectify whatever damage was done, but absolutely nothing came forth. Her mind was a scramble of fear and failure. _Shit_   

A low chuckle rang out nearly startling her from the chair. Vera swallowed the lump constricting her throat, trying to maintain some sense composer.  

“Why don’t you pull up a chair, my dear.” Joan purred, looking insufferably pleased about something.

Vera fought down her agitation valiantly and glanced around the area. “Um, there isn’t one out here.”

Joan turned her head to the orderly, one finely sculpted brow raised. “Mr. Matthews, why is there not a chair out for Agent Bennett?”

“I don’t think-” He began.

“No,” She shook her head, tight ponytail swaying with the movement. “You don’t. Do you truly not care that a young lady has to remain standing because of your lack of chivalry?”

“Oh um, sorry.” He disappeared only to reappear a few seconds later, a metal folding chair in hand.

Joan visibly relaxed at the sight, tension eased by the show of obedience. “Now see that wasn’t so difficult, now was it, Mr. Matthews?”

The orderly merely shook his head before turning his attention to the chair, which he took upon himself to unfold and place beside Vera.

“You let me know if there’s anything else you need, Ms. Bennett. I’ll be watching.” He rumbled, ghosting back into the shadows; close enough to be helpful, but far enough away give them some privacy.  

Vera sat slightly forward in the chair, back straight as an arrow while Joan fetched her own chair.

"Now," The doctor sat down casually in front of Vera. Her long muscular legs crossed at the ankles and hands on her thighs. "what did Juice say to you?"

Chestnut brows furrowed. "I’m sorry, who?"

"Lucy Gambaro, in the cell down there. She spat something at you. What did she say?" The doctor explained with a soft amount of patience. 

The apples of Vera’s cheeks colored instantly as she mumbled something underneath her breath.

Joan tilted her head slightly to the left. “What was that, dear? I didn’t hear you.”  
  
She cleared her throat of bashfulness, the pink hue from before flushing red.

"She said, 'I can smell your cunt.'"

A strong nose crinkled almost cutely. "How vulgar, yet--” Joan leaned toward the barrier, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. A subtle rumble reverberated from her throat. Christ, did she just purr? She opened them again, revealing blown pupils. ”Why myself cannot smell it, I do your _Chanel’s_ _Mademoiselle_ perfume.”

Thin lips curled into a predatory slightly provocative smile. Vera shivered. “It’s delightfully feminine.”

“Um, thank you.”

“Was it a gift? I highly doubt a trainee could afford such luxuries.” Joan commented dryly picking an imaginary piece of lint from her zip up.

Mildly insulted, Vera forced out an answer. “My aunt--”

“Ah yes, the gold-digging aunt. They do tend to be a family standard of sorts.” Her nostrils flared, drawing in a breath to scent the air. “This one at least has excellent taste.”

How in the--? How did she know that?

Joan made a show of raking her gaze over the other woman. “Sadly she didn’t send you clothes as well.”

What? Vera glanced down at her modest robin’s egg blue cardigan over a white blouse and pair of nice fitting jeans. Finding nothing wrong, she frowned, looking back to the Joan who had the most irritating smirk on her face.

Vera opened her mouth to be indignant and reconsidered. “How did you know about the perfume?”

“Your card; it was nearly dripping with it.” She explained matter of factly before just as quickly changing the subject. “So tell me, what do you know about The Red Right Hand?"

Christ, talking with this woman was like being on a merry go round, except without the merry and only the vertigo.

"Nothing much really just what everybody else does, which is very limited." Vera admitted which was true. The higher-ups were keeping their mouths firmly sealed shut or at least for now and August let her know as much.

“How disappointing.” Joan drawled, her expression echoing her tone.“Do tell me what you actually do know.”

“Dr. Ferguson, as you have said yourself I’m still just a trainee.” Vera tried to explain, she absolutely hated bringing up inexperience yet---

“How many bodies have been found so far?”

For a split second, Vera wondered if such information should be given out. After all, this was a serial killer she was speaking to for Christ’s sakes. On other hand, August did say, in not so many words, to get information from the doctor no matter what the cost.

“Ten.”

"All mutilated?"

"Partially, yes."

Joan tapped her lips thoughtfully and let out a contemplative hum. “What parts?”

“Mostly their um--” Vera grimaced when a memory of the pictures flashed across her mind’s eye. “Groins.”

The doctor pressed onward, obviously fishing for something. “And all these bodies; they were all men, were they not?”

“Yes,” Vera herself thought it was odd usually serial killers go for the weaker sex and children, sometimes both, but this one targeted big grown men. The ones who would and could fight back and possibly win.  

Another hum.

"The papers have never explained the name. Do you know why they’re called The Red Right Hand?"

"Yes,"

"Tell me." Joan commanded authority welded like a double-edged sword. It nearly forced Vera to kneel--almost.

"I'll tell you if you'll look at this questionnaire." The hint of blackmail was a brazen move. One that seemed to surprise Vera the most.

Joan narrowed her eyes, but only just slightly at her. "I'll have look, but that's all. Now, why?"

“All of their victims' right hands were cut off, painted red and tacked to the nearest wall.” Vera repeated robotically what was mentioned to her by a fellow colleague.

Joan momentarily mulled over the answer before nodding curtly to some unknown conclusion.

“Send the questionnaire through.”

Vera did as asked, breath bated in anticipation. 

The doctor raffled through the papers, scanning over the words at a rapid pace. She sniffed in disdain and dropped it back onto the tray with a plop.

“Do you honestly expect me to lie still while you people butcher me with these--- butter knives?” Joan eyed the papers as if they just insulted her mother’s honor.

 _Shitshitshit_ She needed to rectify this and quickly. “No, we just want insight as to why.”

“Why? Always why. There always has to be a reason, doesn’t it?”

“I’d like to think so.” Vera blurted out.

“Now it’s my turn to ask why, Officer Bennett. Do you truly believe that if I had some sort horrible childhood experience it would humanize me somehow?”

A pause and she continued.

“Yes, yes you do. Like most, you don’t want to admit that a person may be capable of doing such without there being a bleeding heart cause.” Joan spat, sliding the papers back to the younger woman.

“Well, psychiatrists say-” Vera began, white knuckling the questionnaire in her grasp. 

“Ah, psychiatrists, the last one I spoke to outside of these walls I ate his heart with a side of mashed potatoes and grilled zucchini.” Onyx eyes sparkling, Joan licked and smacked her lips a couple of times.

 _She’s goading you, again._ Vera bristled with anger but felt her stomach traitorously turn with nausea. God this woman.

Joan smirked, but asked in a serious tone.“Tell me, Benjamin’s protégé. Do you think I’m evil?”

 _Yes!_ Was at the tip of her tongue yet-- Vera shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I um,”

“You do, don’t you? Of course, you do. Because labeling someone as evil is easier than accepting that cruelty and conflict are basic human traits.” The doctor accused, without venom. 

“I hardly think killing and eating people is normal.” Vera countered appalled.  

“Normal? A hyena kit when born has a full set of teeth and an overwhelming desire to be topdog.The females being the larger, more vicious of the bunch, kill their brothers straight out of the womb. Brutal, yes but also considered ‘normal’. Joan lectured smoothly. Her voice too soothing to belong to such a monster.  

“So you’re saying not all acts considered evil are?”

“To most they are. Yet to people like me; it’s merely a means of survival.”

“Eating people is a means of survival?” Vera’s face scrunched in horrified disbelief.

The doctor gave her a long stern look, dark eyes boring into her very soul. “Oh, you like to judge me, don’t you, Officer Bennett? Do you know what you look like to me, with your modest clothes and expensive perfume? A hired street waif. Your eyes; all innocent and wide yet you're bright behind them, aren't you? Desperate not to be like your mother, but to please her. Small body hunched too terrified to show your belly lest it be gutted. Your career was specifically chosen, wasn’t it? A final act of insubordination to show them all your greatness. Let me tell you something specific about yourself, Student Bennett. Back in your room, you keep a series of stuffed animals, isn't that so? The poor imperfect ones most children overlook. Maybe they’re missing an eye, an ear or they’re simply ugly, but nobody wants them so you get them.”

Unable to meet the woman's eye any longer, Vera stared at her hands laying uselessly in her lap and nibbled on her bottom lip.

“Because if you didn’t buy them then who would? You worry about the ones you yourself pass over, at night don’t you, sweet Vera?” Joan cooed in her most sympathetic tone. "Poor things left all alone, cold and _unloved_."

She raised her head to face Joan. Expression that of a bullied child's. Full of defiance and false bravery.“You think you know me so well. Though I won’t deny anything you said about me. I will ask you to admit you have a superior complex? Or are you too afraid to admit your own faults?”

Tickled as a fox who just found an easier route into the hen house, the doctor merely laughed. “Well my, my, the mouse does know how to roar after all.”

Disgruntled at being patronized once again, Vera glared. “So you’re simply not going to do the study?”

“No, but I’ll give you something better. Something you’ve longed for more than anything.”

Despite her agitation, the young trainee felt her curiosity flare. “And what’s that?”

“Glory. Four days from now. You’ll find a gift in Fletcher’s vehicle.” She spoke so softly Vera could barely hear and the expression on her face must have said as such. "Did you hear me? Look in Fletcher’s car for your gift. Now, I do believe that’s all for today, don’t you, Officer Bennett."

“I um, yes,” Vera agreed mind still a whirl of questions and emotions.

Ever polite and chivalrous, Joan stood when Vera did, running her hands down the front of her zip-up and straightening out the invisible wrinkles.“Remember what I said, dear Bennett. Oh and also, do watch out for Gambaro. She loves her girls young, cream and unwilling.” The smile that followed was purely wicked.

* * *

“So how’d the interview go?” Benjamin August gestured her to the chair in front of his desk.

Vera cringed not even attempting to hide her discomfort from the question.

“It was--eventful.”

His brow furrowed, concern overlapping curiosity. “Oh? Did she not cooperate?”

She shook her head and rehashed the entire visit save for the last part. Something told to keep that partial tidbit to herself. Fletcher. She recalled the name vaguely was a patient of Ferguson's and one of her many victims. Unfortunately for her, though, it was all she knew given the very short amount of time given to read up on Ferguson’s gory past.

“So she actually spoke to you?” August’s eyebrows lifted in expectation; his hopeful stare reminding Vera of a child waiting with excited wonder for an earlier promise to be fulfilled.  

“Yes, but she was entirely vague.” _And terrifying._ Dignity alone made her chose to keep the last part to herself.

“Still, it’s better than nothing.” He leaned forward in his seat. His finger tapped on the blank questionnaire in a laminated sheath on the desk in front of him. “More than any of the others have gotten.”

Mr. August smiled, but... it was wrong somehow, she thought. A curled, greedy smile. The one the Grinch wore before stealing Christmas.

Her heart sank into her gut. She had a terrible feeling about this. 

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

In the previous years, Joan occupied her free time with exercise, reading the occasional psychiatric journal, and speaking to her loyal fan group. In the few months following her annihilation of that brute, however,  Uncle Johnny made it his mission to clip her wings entirely.

 

_ Bastard _

 

So, for the most part, she was left alone with her thoughts, broken only by the murmurings of the nearby cells and the occasional jiggle of keys. Joan settled herself into her bunk, hands clasped just beneath her breasts and inhaled through her mouth. The sour muskiness of the other inmates was revolting but thankfully easy enough to dismiss. Still, she had no desire for their uncleanness to enter her body.

 

A cleansing exhale.

 

The air was thicker tonight, headier, and judging by the heavy dew weeping from the walls, a small rainstorm was going on outside.

 

Nude lips twitched into a smile.

 

Her first kill was in weather such as this, albeit in its frozen form. The winter had been particularly harsh that year and with little to no game available, the hungry desperate eyes of her own mother turned to a different sort of prey. One far more dangerous than any wolf roaming the forests of rural Russia.  

Fingers used to wield a violin's bow so beautifully held steady her smaller frame trembling under the weight of a rifle.   

 

The crackle of the gunshot, a proud squeeze to the shoulder, a vodka boosted praise.

 

She snapped herself from the past and went on to more present matters at hand.

 

Her mind conjured the image of Vera Bennett with her earnest eyes, expensive perfume and off-brand clothing. When she first laid eyes upon the petite woman, Joan had to resist the urge to burst out into a hearty laugh.

 

This,  _ this  _ was Australia's finest. The woman looked ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

 

And to the great Gods, a lamb’s throat shall be cut.

 

Ah, but do you see the lamb is no lamb? When pushed a tiny cub showed its little milk teeth.

 

_ How adorable. _

 

Joan wanted to coo and give chestnut waves a few encouraging strokes. That’s it, show Aunty Joni what you got. She felt a burst of giddiness. It’s been so long since she’s played with another and Vera for all her bright-eyed nativity intrigued her immensely.

 

Of course, Joan was anything but stupid. She saw the interview for what it truly was when the doe-eyed creature first approached her cell. Knew how men thought with only their cocks so thought the same of women.

 

_ Idiots _ .

 

She was not some bastardized version of King Kong. A pretty face did nothing to get in her good graces.

 

 

_ Yet- _

 

There was just something about the younger woman. Something she herself contained many years ago. A spark. One if nurtured correctly would be able to blazen on out of control. 

 

Joan’s lips curve into a slow curling smile. Oh yes, she’ll take the upstart under wing. Show her what it was like to be a true predator. Then unleash her upon the world. 

* * *

 

Secluded in a deep dank basement and only illuminated by the projector, Vera flipped through a series of documents, studying each one with a professional eye until finally, she stumpled upon the one she was searching for.

 

The picture of a handsome-ish thickly built man with blond hair clad in an officer's uniform came upon the screen.

 

_ Matthew Fletcher, WM, 36, _

_ An ongoing patient in Dr. Joan Ferguson’'s psychiatric practice. On, October 12, 1994, Fletcher failed to appear at his home in Melbourne from his job as an officer at the women's correctional facility, Blackmore. Three days later his body was discovered in the boiler room of Blackmore, chained to pipes and cut in the standardized Y shape. Autopsy later revealed, the actual cause of death was clean cut across the throat and his heart along with part of the intestines was completely removed. _

_ Later on, it was believed one of these appeared on the menu of a dinner Ferguson gave for the Governor of Blackmore, Meg Jackson, on the evening following his disappearance. _

_ When questioned, Dr. Ferguson claimed to have no knowledge on the matter. Jackson also testified that she could not recall the fare of Dr. Ferguson’s dinner. Commenting: “Nothing out of the ordinary.” _

_ When also questioned about their relationship, she at first denied then later, when presented with Fletcher’s journal, admitted to an ongoing affair. _

_ Unfortunately two weeks later, Jackson met her demise in a mugging gone wrong.   _ __   
  


Vera let out a frustrated tired sigh. With the amount of red tape chock holding personal items. This was going to be absolute hell to accomplish. But not impossible. She picked up the phone. She had a few calls to make.


End file.
